


There You Are, A World Away

by MistoElectra



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depression, Emails, Epistolary, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition, Letters, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Pen Pals, Texting, really cheesy pick up lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistoElectra/pseuds/MistoElectra
Summary: It all begins with a school project~A long distance relationship over 14 years, told through the letters, emails and messages exchanged~Part of the Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 137
Collections: Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition





	There You Are, A World Away

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This fic is part of the Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition, and was written in collaboration with art by the fabulous Scathiee which can be found here- https://scathiee.tumblr.com/post/617265575747567616/my-contribution-for-thelesmisbigbang-to-accompany  
> Content warning:  
> -References to child abuse, underage alcohol abuse and attempted suicide

It all begins with a school project.

_

_To Gabriel Enjolras,_

_I’m not really sure what we’re supposed to say in these letters. My teacher didn’t really explain much about it, other than to tell us that we’d be doing it all year, and that we’d be sending letters to other kids in France._

_Wait, you can understand this, right? It would be a bit stupid if we were told to write these letters in English and you weren’t able to read them, so I guess you must be able to speak some English. I know a bit of French because my grandpa was from there, but I haven’t really had much chance to practice, so I’d probably end up messing up._

_I guess I should probably tell you a bit about myself. You’ve already been given my name so you know that it’s Rafael. I’m nine years old, and I live in New York, with my mum, dad, and my little sister Maria, who’s three. I like drawing and I go to boxing, but I’m not very good at math._

_I’m not really sure what else to say here._

_From,_

_Rafael Grantaire_  
_Age 9_  
_New York City_

-

_To Rafael Grantaire,_

_It’s supposed to encourage us to learn about life in different countries and different cultures. Also I speak English, and have been doing so for several years, so that won’t be a problem. Why would they make us write if we wouldn’t be able to understand each other?_

_As you’re aware, my name is Gabriel Enjolras, but I prefer just my last name. What would you like to be called? I’m eight years old, but I’ll be nine next month, and I live in Toulouse with my parents. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, but I like to read or spend time with my two friends Rene and Anton. We’re all part of our student council too. So far we’ve managed to get our headmaster to agree to make school lunches free._

_Sincerely,_

_Enjolras_  
_Age 8_  
_Toulouse_

-

_Enjolras,_

_Dude, are you for real? You’re eight (well, probably nine by the time you read this) and you go by your last name? I thought that was an old man thing. I mean, I guess you can call me Rafael, or my little sister calls me R sometimes because she can’t say my name properly yet. Or are you gonna insist on calling me by my last name too?_

_I’m not sure how much we’re actually supposed to learn from each other. I mean, sure we’re in two different countries, but I don’t see how much difference there can really be. Well, except from the fact that the information sheet said your school is a private school, and mine is just about the most common you can find._

_We don’t even have a student council here, not that it would do much good. Our headmaster doesn’t care. No one wants to listen to a bunch of kids yelling about that stuff. It’s not like they’re going to give us free school meals anyway._

_Rafael Grantaire_  
_Age 9_  
_New York City_

-

Needless to say, neither of them make a particularly great first impression. In Rafael’s opinion, Enjolras seems…well, naïve. Almost like a more well-intentioned version of some of the kids from the private school who like to preach about hard work, yet have mommy and daddy paying for everything they could want or need, meanwhile Rafael hasn’t had new school things since he started elementary school. The straps of his backpack cling on by mere threads and duct tape, but it’s not like they can really afford a new one, so he makes do.

Meanwhile, across the ocean, Enjolras can’t help but find Rafael stubborn and unbelieving. It’s like he doesn’t want things to be better, like he’d rather everything be bad, the blonde boy complains to his friends one day. Rene has been exchanging letters with a rather strong-willed girl by the name of Eponine, while Anton has been informing them enthusiastically about his correspondences with a boy named Bahorel who he describes as ‘scrappy’. Either way, both of them seem pretty pleased with their new pen pals.  
Rough start aside though, neither can really deny that they end up enjoying their letters. Enjolras is used to his friends agreeing with him, so even at their young age, having someone challenging him, pointing out things he hasn’t considered, helps him to strengthen his arguments. Rene even points out that his basis for his arguments has become a lot more well-rounded. And Rafael likes having someone to talk to. It’s not that he doesn’t have friends, because he does, and he loves them very much, but there’s something about Enjolras that makes it different. He’s fierce and determined and driven in a way that Rafael can barely begin to dream of, but he laps it up all the same. 

It honestly becomes the highlight of his week.

-

_Enj,_

_It’s weird to think the school year is nearly over. We’ve been writing for over nine months now, which I know isn’t really that long, but it feels longer. In a good way though! Except that means it’s nearly over. I never thought I’d be sad about that but…I am? This might sound kinda weird but I really look forward to getting your letters, even if you do come out with some utter rubbish sometimes. A lot of the time. The majority of the time._

_Our teacher has been asking us what we’ve learned from this whole thing, and I didn’t really know what to say. I feel like she’s expecting something fancy, or cultural, but there’s only so much to make up on that front. Sure, I’ve learned things, but I’m not sure she really wants to know that your favourite colour is red, or that you’ve known Rene since you were both four years old and you tried to stage a revolution in the sandpit (a thought that brings me a lot of amusement), or that you want to have changed the world by the time you’re twenty one. To be honest, I don’t really want to share that anyway._

_I don’t want to say goodbye either._

_Rafael_  
_Age 9_  
_New York City._

-

_Rafael,_

_I understand what you mean. I do look forward to your letters as well, and even though I don’t really know what you look like (now that I think about it, it’s never come up, has it?), I feel like I know you properly anyway. I know your precise opinions on mathematics, I know that you doodle a lot, and that you spend a lot of time with your little sister._  
_I also know that just because this project is nearly over doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop writing to you. They never said we couldn’t keep this going, and I’d like to keep going. Nothing has to change. We don’t need to say goodbye._

_I refuse to say goodbye to a friend._

_Enjolras_  
_Age 9_  
_Toulouse_

-

If Eponine catches him tracing his fingers over that particular letter more than once, she doesn’t say anything. Looking back later, he supposes it was obvious even then, even if he hadn’t quite figured it out for himself yet.

-

They keep writing. It’s not difficult, in fact, something about it feels even easier now that there’s not the lingering feeling of it all being a project hanging over them. Rafael isn’t sure if Enjolras’ parents bother to read the letters (his own certainly don’t, that would imply that either of them give a damn about him in the slightest in the first place. The only attention his father has ever given him is when his reports come in, and even then, it’s with the back of his hand or his belt. This he doesn’t write about. Not yet anyway.) but if they do, they obviously don’t find any issue with their son occasionally rambling on for pages about all variety of subjects with some scruffy New York kid in his spare time. The letters are like his own little safe haven, just like his sketch books, something just for him, and he loses count of how frequently he’ll come home from school and just sit rereading them over and over. He has no idea what Enjolras’ voice sounds like, and yet he swears he can hear the arguments sometimes, the exasperation so clearly written in those words. 

And of course, through the letters he learns more and more about Enjolras’ group of friends, to the point where he feels he knows them himself. Rene Combeferre, the supposedly more level-headed member of their little triumvirate, who had been (and still does, although not quite as frequently) writing with Eponine, and Anton de Courfeyrac, known affectionately as Courf, who seems like the sort of person he’d get along with, except perhaps for the overt cheeriness. Rafael has never been what could be considered cheery. And there are more too, although they aren’t mentioned as often. A sweet boy named Jehan, a hard-working boy named Feuilly, someone called Marius who seems to irk Enjolras, but who Courf seems to have taken under his wing. Sometimes he draws them, or at least how he envisions them in his mind from Enjolras’ descriptions.

For the most part, as he moves onto middle school, his friendship group remains the same, and by that he means he still hangs around with Eponine and Bahorel, as well as Eponine’s host of siblings and his own little sister. They do add two more to their motley crew though, an inseparable double act called Joly and Bossuet. It’s nice, and while school is a bit shit, it’s infinitely better than home.

-

_E,_

_I know I’ve only just sent you a letter, so don’t take this as a reply to whatever you’ve just sent me back. I’ll get to that…y’know, when I get that. I just…I just needed to talk, and there’s only so many times I can submit Ep or Baz to my whining. Feel free to ignore this too, I just want to get it out somewhere._

_Everything is just…shit._

~~_Do you ever feel like giving up?_ ~~

_I don’t even know where to start. I mean, mom and dad have been arguing but that’s hardly anything new. I’ve heard my own name come up several times. At this point, it honestly doesn’t surprise me anymore. I just do my best to keep Maria from noticing too much where I can, but I’m not sure I’ll even be able to do that for much longer. She’s nine now and smart as a whip, and I just know she’s going to notice. I can’t protect her._

_Dad is pissed with me. Again, nothing new there, not really. Someone’s got to be the disappointment in the family after all. School reports came a few days ago, and he got to it before I did. Realised that I failed math._

_He wasn’t happy._

_I don’t know why I can’t get it. I’ve tried, I honestly have, you know how hard I’ve tried, but it’s no use. The numbers just blur into nonsense. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am stupid. I deserve his anger. Who wouldn’t be angry at having such a stupid son who can’t even manage middle school math?_

_I’m just so tired._

_I snuck a few glasses of his favourite whiskey last night. For once it made everything stop. Maybe he’s onto something there._

_Sorry you’ve had to listen to this._

_Grantaire_  
_Age 14_  
_New York City_

-

_Grantaire,_

_I want you to listen to me right now ( and before you make a stupid comment about this being written and not being able to actually listen, don’t) Rafael Grantaire, because I have a number of things I want to say._

_1\. You can write to me at any time, as much as you like. We’ve established that. You could send me your first novel, and I’d read every word. And that’s a promise._

_2\. It’s not whining_

_3\. Regardless of your parent’s arguments, nothing there is your fault. You’re a kid, they’re the adults and they should be more mature._

_4\. Personally, I think you probably must be one of the best big brothers ever. And I bet Maria probably feels the same. And I know that you have done and sacrificed so much for her, way more than most kids would do. So maybe you can’t wrap her up in cotton wool, but you’re showing her that you care. You love her, and she loves you._

_5\. You’re not stupid, and you most certainly do not deserve any anger or disappointment just because you struggle with mathematics. The fact that your father seems to think so only proves what an absolute abomination of a man he is. Lots of people struggle with mathematics. I know for a fact that you have an incredible mind for history and philosophy, and that you’re amazing at art. You are talented, Grantaire, never doubt that, please._

_Please don’t drink._

_I want you to promise me something. Please look after yourself. Keep yourself safe._

_Enjolras_  
_Age 14_  
_Toulouse_

_P.S. I finally got around to making an email address- we can still write (it is, after all, the best way for us to debate), but now we’ll be able to contact each other so much more quickly for all the little things that come to mind. It’s propatria@gmail.fr_

-

**To:** propratria@gmail.fr  
**From:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com

Fucking nerd.

-

Email does speed things up, Enjolras notices. They still keep all their long debates to the letters, as well as the more general life catch-ups (which Grantaire has taken to doing in an intensely cynical news report style, complete with weather forecast), but for everything else, they jump to email easily, and there’s something so…so delightful about being able to be so figuratively close. As it is, he’s gotten into trouble several times for checking his emails during class time, but he just can’t help it. Now he’s able to update Grantaire almost immediately about the stupid joke that Courfeyrac just pulled, or Jehan’s latest fashion choices, or how Marius has turned into a lovesick puppy over some girl he saw in a park. Combeferre just rolls his eyes now when he sees Enjolras checking for replies. They’ve all long since accepted that it would take something short of a worldwide disaster to draw Enjolras’ attention away from those emails when he’s determined to read them, and if there’s maybe some light hearted ribbing, here and there, well it’s all just a little bit of fun and games. Courfeyrac likes to tease that he wants to be best man at the wedding, a statement which never fails to make Enjolras sputter and stammer and flush bright red, eventually choking out that ‘it’s not like that’.

The more frequent communication does let him see things that letters can’t though. Like the fact that Grantaire will frequently reply the fastest at times when he theoretically shouldn’t, like when he’s supposed to be asleep. Additionally like the fact that the arguing has been getting worse, that his relationship with his parents has plummeted even further, and that on more than one occasion, he’s broken into his father’s alcohol cabinet again.

It breaks his heart to see Grantaire like this. For as long as he’s known him, he’s always been a little pessimistic perhaps, but lately it’s been getting to a whole new level, and it scares him, because Grantaire is an entire ocean away. All Enjolras can do is listen.

It’s one day at lunch that a new email comes through, one that chills him to the bone and has the blood draining from his face.

-

**From** : Rwethereyet@gmail.com  
**To:** propatria@gmail.fr

I’m sorry.

I have to break the promise.

Please forgive me.

R  
Age 16  
NYC

**From:** propatria@gmail.fr  
**To:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com

R, what are you talking about? What’s going on?

**From:** propatria@gmail.fr  
**To:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com

R, please talk to me. 

**From** : propatria@gmail.fr  
**To:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com

You’re scaring me now, please reply

**From:** propatria@gmail.fr  
**To:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com

R,

It’s been two weeks and you haven’t replied. 

I miss you.

I hope whatever’s going on, that you’re okay.

Please just let me know that you’re safe.

Yours,

Enjolras  
Age 16  
Toulouse

**From:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com  
**To:** propatria@gmail.fr

Hey,

I’m sorry for scaring you. To be honest, I scared a lot of people, and I feel kinda shitty about that. I never wanted to do that, I just thought…well honestly, I thought a lot of things and a lot of them were wrong and pretty much all of them were awful, so I’d rather not go into that.

I would’ve replied before now, but they wouldn’t let me have my phone on the ward until they took me off watch. So yeah. I’m safe, I guess, or as safe as I can be. Mom cried. Dad looked disappointed. Maria hasn’t let me out of her sight once.

~~It was supposed to make everything better, but I can’t even manage that. I’ve just made it worse for everyone.~~

I’ve missed you too. Honestly, sometimes I think your emails and letters are the only things that keep me sane most days. Well that, and now the pills they’re making me take, although I’ve yet to see a difference.

It’s times like this I wish you weren’t an ocean away.

R  
Age 16  
Room 103, Lenox Hill Hospital, New York City

-

If Combeferre and Courfeyrac (they’ve all taken to calling each other by surnames now, somewhere along the way) notice that he checks his emails all the more frequently now, they don’t say anything. If anything, they talk to him about Grantaire, ask how he’s getting along, and he’s grateful for that acceptance. Somewhere in the whole chaos and the two weeks of silence, he’d realised…well, just how much a part of his life Grantaire is. The fact that he’s so far away leaves an ache in his chest, because all he can think is that he can’t physically be there for him. Somewhere in this completely bizarre friendship, Grantaire has wormed his way into Enjolras’ heart, and the French teenager honestly can’t imagine life without him. Maybe it’s odd, he doesn’t even know what Grantaire looks like, and yet he can almost envision the smirk he reads in his writing sometimes.

And so maybe his sleeping schedule takes a bit of a hit, but honestly, it’s worth it to be able to be there whenever Grantaire needs him. Nights when Grantaire’s depression threatens to overwhelm him, when he picks the lock on his father’s alcohol cabinet in hopes of dulling the pain. He’s not on the pills from the hospital anymore, he tells Enjolras. He doesn’t have insurance, and he certainly can’t afford them out of pocket. Only Enjolras knows the other won’t accept it, he’d find some way to pay for it himself. So instead, he sits up at night, does his best to reassure him with gentle words, or provoke him into debates to take his mind off everything.

Even during exams, he makes time. There’s that quiet fear in the back of his mind that if he looks away for too long, Grantaire will be gone. He has nightmares about it sometimes, nightmares about losing someone he’s never even met, but when he mentions this to Combeferre, the other boy just gives him a look, that look that says he knows something that Enjolras doesn’t. Courfeyrac just giggles.

He’s never asking them for help again.

-

**From:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com  
**To:** propatria@gmail.fr

Enjolras!

Ok, so I know it’s like…2am where you are (and dude, you should really be sleeping, I know you have your final exams at the moment, and you need your rest) but I have to tell you this.

Actually, you’re the first person I’ve told. 

So you remember how I said I couldn’t wait to move out, right? And we just sort of presumed that I’d have to wait till college, for obvious reasons, but then I’d finally get to go elsewhere (presuming I got in, of course).

Oh wait, shit, I’ve got two pieces of news.

In my defence, I may be slightly buzzed right now (Don’t give me that look).

Ok, so first things first…

I GOT INTO NYU!

I’m honestly still in shock over that. Not gonna lie, if it hadn’t been for you tutoring me in math over email, I never would have pulled my GPA up enough. And even better, they liked my portfolio enough to give me a scholarship! It won’t cover the entirety of tuition, but enough to relax things considerably. I can’t believe I’m actually going to college.

Now the second bit of big news.

I’ve moved out. 

It’s good, don’t worry. There was no fight, but that’s probably because I packed all my shit up and left while they were sleeping. Eponine and I have found a place. It’s pretty shitty and falling apart, but it’s cheap, and it’s available and now it’s ours, and we’re both free of our shitty parents.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this happy.

R  
18 years old  
New York City

-

Enjolras reads that email over and over again, his grin making his cheeks hurt. It takes till the third time through for him to notice the attachment, and he can’t help but click in curiously, only for his cheeks to flush bright red when it opens. Grantaire has attached a picture, and it’s a picture of himself, beaming widely inside a tiny box apartment, the first time Enjolras has seen what he looks like in the ten years they’ve been writing to each other.

And Grantaire is hot.

Alright, so he might not be conventionally attractive, Enjolras surmises. His nose looks like it’s been broken several times and not quite set right, his cheeks are ruddy, and his hair is doing a remarkable impression of a birds nest. 

But then there’s his eyes, which are the most piercing shade of blue he’s ever seen, and although his smile is crooked, there’s something undeniably radiant about it. Just looking at the picture (and he stares at it for what must be a good twenty minutes) makes something in his stomach twist.

Oh.

_Oh._

He should probably reply.

**From:** propatria@gmail.fr  
**To:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com

R,

That’s wonderful news! I told you you’d get in, your portfolio was amazing, there’s no way they could turn you down. I’m so proud of you, R, I know how much hard work you’ve put in for this. If anyone deserves it, it’s you (and don’t you dare try to argue with it).

I’m proud of you for moving out too. You’ve done it, R. You’re free. 

I have some news myself (All good too, don’t worry).

As you know, I’d already decided I wanted to get out of Toulouse for university. While I love my home, I wanted to see a bit more of my country, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac were of similar mind. Well, the good news is that all of us have been accepted by PSL! We’ve all agreed to live together while we’re there as well (in truth, just as I’m sure you couldn’t imagine not living with Eponine if given the choice, I can’t imagine us separating unless forced).

Although that does remind me of more news. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are…well, they’re together now. I’m not entirely sure how it happened, just that I caught them kissing during one of our movie nights.

I also realised that the picture you sent is the first time I’ve ever seen you. Ten years, and we’re only sharing that now. I’ve attached a picture too, it was the best one I could find. The blond is me, the one with the curly hair is Courfeyrac, and then Combeferre with the glasses.

Enjolras,  
18 years old  
Toulouse (soon to be Paris)

-

Grantaire is so gone.

It should be admitted, he’s been gone on Enjolras…well, really for about as long as he can remember, if he’s honest. Eponine can confirm, she’s seen him practically swooning over his emails on more than one occasion. But now he has a picture to go with the personality, and his immediate reaction had been less than appropriate.

Enjolras is gorgeous.

Actually, there must be something in the water in Toulouse, because both Combeferre and Courfeyrac are unfairly attractive too, but Enjolras is…Enjolras makes his fingers itch for a paintbrush, or a pencil, or something, some way to attempt to mimic such mastery. 

For one, from what he can tell, Enjolras is tall, at least judging by the background and general scale, and that alone does it for him. He’s always had a bit of a thing for tall guys (which was, now he came to think about it, what had led to his brief fling with Montparnasse, but that was a story for another time), and the fact that it’s Enjolras? Not to mention that hair, golden curls that frame his face and seem to almost glow in the sunlight.

If he saves that photo and sets it as the background for his phone…well, nobody needs to know.

He does manage to tap out a quick response though, inbetween his gaping and his indistinct screaming into the pillow.

**From** : Rwethereyet@gmail.com  
**To:** propatria@gmail.fr

You know, it’s rude to not inform a mortal when they’re speaking with a god, Apollo.

R  
18 years old  
New York City

P.S. Congrats. I knew you’d do it. Say hi to C2 for me.

-

That’s how something new starts, with a simple exchange of photographs.

Now, Enjolras will be the first to admit, he’s not really the most aware person when it comes to things like flirting. He’s well aware that people find him pretty, he’s spent years getting compliments on that, but it’s never really been something he’s considered. He’s always had something else that was more important, exams or Grantaire, or working to make things better with his friends, or Grantaire, or applying to universities, or Grantaire. 

But even he’s pretty sure that Grantaire is flirting with him. He hopes that he is. The only other way of reading some of those emails is that he’s looking for opinions on pick up lines. In which case, someone should probably tell him that they’re horrific.

**From:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com  
**To:** propatria@gmail.fr

Can I have another picture so I can show Santa what I want for Christmas?

-

**From:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com  
**To:** propatria@gmail.fr

Can I follow you? My mom always told me to follow your dreams.

(“R, your mom never told you that shit-“ “Shut up, Eponine!”)

-

**From:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com  
**To:** propatria@gmail.fr

Is your dad an art thief? Because you’re a masterpiece.

(“My dad’s a lawyer…”   
“Jesus, Enjolras, stop being so dense.”  
“But Courf-“  
“No.”)

-  


**From:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com  
**To:** propatria@gmail.fr

On a scale of one to America, how free are you tonight?

(“Actually, for all it claims to be a land of freedom-“)

-

**From** : Rwethereyet@gmail.com  
**To:** propatria@gmail.fr

What time do you have to be back in heaven?

(“Now that’s just corny.”)

-

**From:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com  
**To:** propatria@gmail.fr

If a star fell every time I thought of you, the sky would be empty.

-

Admittedly, Enjolras can’t help but smile at the last one. He’s never quite sure how to reply though. He knows that Grantaire is bi, and he knows that Grantaire knows that he’s ace, but they’ve never really had much conversation about relationships. That doesn’t change the fact that the thought of Grantaire being with someone else makes Enjolras’ heart clench painfully. It’s that thought that has him coming up with a reply.

**From:** propatria@gmail.fr  
**To:** Rwethereyet@gmail.com

Guess what I’m wearing?   
The smile you gave me.

Enjolras  
19 years old  
Paris

-

From that point forward, anyone with a pair of eyes can see the increase in tentative flirting with only a glance at their exchanges. Not to mention that they’ve now progressed to instant messaging, which means that both of them are even more glued to their phones than they previously were. It’s definitely useful, because given his university work load, and the ABC society, and his volunteering as well, Enjolras admittedly doesn’t have the same amount of time to write letters and long emails that he used to. He knows that Grantaire feels the same, knows that Grantaire is working about three part-time jobs in order to pay for rent and groceries and what his scholarship doesn’t cover, not to mention his college work on top of that. So IMing suits them both well, and it means they can update each other on the go in ways that they couldn’t before.

(Not to mention that it makes Grantaire’s heart skip a beat every time he sees Enjolras in his contact list. Eponine claims he stares dopily at it from time to time, a claim he thoroughly refutes.)

Courfeyrac, being the romantic he is, finds the whole thing ‘absolutely adorable’ and demands regular updates on ‘how things are going between them’. Although, if he’s honest, Enjolras isn’t really sure what is going on between them. They flirt, sure, but are they together? Is it just for fun? It’s a question that bugs him more than he’d like to let on. Combeferre, knowing him all too well, and ever the logical member of their little triumvirate, gives the obvious suggestion: Just ask him.

So before he can lose what little courage he has, he does.

 **Enj [03:04]** : R?  
**R [03:06]:** Sup. Isn’t it like 3am where you are? You really need to manage your sleep schedule, Enj, I know you have a morning lecture tomorrow  
**Enj [03:10]** : We’ve been friends for 12 years  
**R [03:11]:** Are you breaking up with me? This sounds like you’re breaking up with me, which is rough because we’re not dating  
**Enj [03:12]** :…do you want to be?  
**R [03:21]:** I’m gonna need you to explain explicitly what you’re asking here, because I think I know, but I’d rather be sure  
**Enj [03:22]:** Would you like to date me?  
**Enj [03:22]** : I’m sorry if I’ve made assumptions  
**Enj [03:22]** : I just thought with the emails  
**Enj [03:23]:** And I really like you, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable  
**R [03:24]** : Enj, breathe  
**R [03:25]** : You haven’t been making me uncomfortable  
**R [03:26]:** But to answer your question…yeah, I’d like to date you. If you want to date me, which I’m hoping you do seeing as you asked  
**Enj [03:26]** : Of course I want to!  
**R [03:28]** : Good…boyfriend.

-

When Eponine comes home, Gavroche in tow, Grantaire can’t help but scoop them both up into a hug, the smile on his face hurting his cheeks it’s so wide. He has a boyfriend. Enjolras, the guy he’s been crushing on since he was eight years old, likes him back and is his boyfriend, and it honestly feels like nothing in the world could bring him down right now. Not his depression, not the fact that he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in far too long, not the heavy workload from college.

It probably says a lot about their friendship that Eponine has him figured out before he even sets her down, ushering Gavroche off to do his homework before demanding all the details. By the time he’s finished explaining, she’s rolling her eyes but smiling too, and he can’t help but return the grin as she pushes herself to her feet and leans over, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m happy for you, ‘Taire. He better treat you right, or I’m gonna have to have words with him.”

-

When Courfeyrac hears, the entirety of their friend group also finds out within approximately six minutes. He clutches Enjolras to his chest (impressive, given that Courfeyrac is, and always has been, about a head smaller than Enjolras, but he also has an admirable determination) and pretends to wipe away tears.

“Ferre! Ferre, our baby is growing up! I’m so proud!”

Combeferre, to his credit, smirks in response, “Now Enjolras, now that you’re getting older, we really need to have the talk-“

“NO!”

-

Being in a long-distance relationship is tough. Not in the communication sense, because they’ve never had that issue. They still talk just as much, if not more, and now their messages are intertwined with sweet sentiments, gentle declarations, a heart. No, the tough part is the fact that there’s a literal ocean between them. Almost every day, Enjolras wishes for nothing more than to be able to just scoop Grantaire up in his arms and cuddle him. Grantaire can’t help but dream of what it would be like to wake up next to Enjolras, to be able to see the sunlight curling through his hair in the morning.

On more than one occasion they speculate about visiting each other. It seems like the right thing to do, after all. They’ve known each other for over thirteen years, been dating for nine months, and yet they’ve never met in person. Except, it’s not easy. With his workload, there’s no way Enjolras can take time out for a trip across the pond, and even with his part time jobs, the cost of a flight from JFK to Charles de Gaulle is way out of Grantaire’s price range, especially as he draws closer to the end of his studies, even more so given he’s considering going to grad school. So they resign themselves to waiting. It’s not so bad, Enjolras tries to smile, they’ve gone this long without seeing each other, they can go a little longer. Their relationship is still flourishing.

Until a few months later when it sort of…isn’t.

Nothing has happened, per se, at least nothing that Enjolras can detect, no matter how many times he pores through their messages. Everything had been fine at Christmas, they’d posted parcels to each other, Grantaire sending Enjolras a deep green scarf (“Because I know how often you go out without one”) and Enjolras sending Grantaire some new paintbrushes, alongside a red phone case that he knows the other has been eyeing. But now…well, the only way to put it is that they’re not messaging anywhere near as much. 

It’s stupid to be worried, Enjolras tells himself. Grantaire had told him that he was picking up more shifts in order to pay off the last of his tuition and to help contribute towards their apartment, especially now that they’ve got both Gavroche and Azelma living with them. That combined with his final projects and his thesis means he hardly has time to breathe, never mind have lengthy conversations late into the night with his boyfriend.

But Enjolras misses him.

It’s coming up to a year now, and part of him has hoped that they might be able to arrange something. Except he’d sent Grantaire a message yesterday, and there’s still been no response. So he buries himself in his schoolwork, reminding himself that they have a meeting tonight anyway, doing whatever he can to distract himself from it. What makes it worse is that Combeferre and Courfeyrac had both darted out early that morning, giving a brief excuse of having things to do and saying they’d see him at the meeting.

It’s honestly the longest day ever.

By the time he arrives at the Musain, where they hold their meetings now, he’s in a foul mood. Even Marius can tell that much, judging by the slightly wary glance he sends at Jehan as Enjolras storms in, dumping his belongings on his usual table with a clatter. It’s not long before he hears Combeferre and Courfeyrac climbing the stairs, and he stands up, ready to greet them, only to be surprised by something else entirely. His friends are there, yes, but they’re not alone.

Because right in the middle of them is Grantaire.

The entire room goes silent, all eagerly watching for reactions. Courfeyrac is grinning like there’s no tomorrow, but Enjolras doesn’t even see him. His eyes are locked on Grantaire, mouth gaping. Grantaire is shorter than he envisioned, not quite as small as Courfeyrac, and his hair is messily pulled back from his face. He looks tired, but he’s also wearing a beaming smile, blue eyes twinkling mischievously, and it hits Enjolras.

Grantaire, wonderful, incredible Grantaire, hasn’t forgotten their anniversary. No, instead he’s given Enjolras the best present he could have ever asked for, and the blond can’t stop himself from stumbling over to him, tears beading in his eyes as he raises a hand to brush it along his boyfriend’s cheek. R catches it, giving it a gentle squeeze, and then he speaks, his voice soft and warm and the most beautiful thing Enjolras has ever heard.

“Rafael Grantaire. Twenty two years old. _Paris_.”


End file.
